In a Restaurant

"T cannot eat coarse-fibered meat," she said,

And while the waiter changed her portion, read

Of one,

A princess born, who, having lost a crust

Of coarse black bread less nourishing than dust,

Gave her slight body to the Neva's lust

Rather than face the sun

One more wolf-hungry day. "That piece of meat,"

She said, "is better. Will you kindly heat

This half-cold bun?"